As Kagome watched her new army proceed through town, something nagged at the back of her mind.

It was a feeling of misgiving that persisted in the days that followed, sharpening into outright suspicion as she opened the trunk at her bedside—and spotted something pale and glinting in the darkness within.

Kagome’s brow furrowed. Plucking the pearly cockle shell out from the shadows, she eyed it narrowly.

“Strange flood…” the miko muttered to herself.

Stuffing the shell into her pocket, she rose and went on her way.

In the valley beyond the temple, Ren and his men had already made good progress on clearing out the land. More dashing than ever in his new suit of armor, the samurai captain stood gleaming atop a raised wooden platform, overseeing the construction of what appeared to be a large manor house, surrounded by a sprawling compound of barracks. He bowed to Kagome as she passed him by. All the men who weren’t too busy hacking or hauling or hammering did the same. A few who were free were even testing out new swords and arms of their own, or casting slack-jawed glances at the mountainous piles of weaponry which were continuing to grow before their eyes.

Almost hidden from view behind these piles was the smith himself. Jets of flame spewed from his mouth as his long-handled hammer swung to meet the anvil in a frenzy. But his large bulbous eyes were glazed with boredom, his three-eyed cow companion nosing idly through the dead grass near his side. Normally, Toutousai would never have agreed to such a mundane task as outfitting a human army, but Kagome had something that interested him enough to suffer through it.

As she approached him with sword in hand, his flames sputtered out, his hammer thudding against the anvil with a nasty clang. “Tessaiga!” he cried, in what sounded like relief. Tears misted his eyes as he drew the blade from its sheath. “Oh, you poor thing, how you have suffered…”

Crossing her arms at the chest, Kagome glowered. “…How can a sword suffer anything?”

“This is no mere ‘sword’,” Toutousai said, glaring back at her in reproach. “Tessaiga is a living blade, forged first from the fang of the Inu no Taishou, and then reforged with that of his younger son. In it, an echo of them lives on.”

Frowning, Kagome glanced away, a ripple shivering through some still, dark surface in her mind.

“An echo…” she murmured, looking back to the battered blade. “You mean, Tessaiga carries Inuyasha’s memories?”

“A great sword carries memories of its own,” the demon smith answered cryptically, his eyes swiveling from tattered hilt to chipping point. “It is cruel of you to keep it locked in darkness. Tessaiga should be wielded by a worthy hand.”

Kagome’s eyes flashed to his. “I offered it to Sesshoumaru, but he refused it.”

Toutousai nodded, his stare just as flinty and bright. “As well he should!—this fang was never meant for him.” The smith’s expression grew morose. “A pity you bore Inuyasha no sons.” Then, sly. “But, there is still Sesshoumaru…”

Kagome’s jaw unhinged, all the blood draining from her face. “Y-you!” she choked out. “Are you suggesting I let Sesshoumaru knock me up just so Tessaiga will have someone to swing it around?!”

Brandishing the blade up at her, the swordsmith shot back, “Why not?—is it really so much to ask?! Don’t be selfish!”

“Selfish?!” Kagome went red in the face, reiki simmering around her. “You’re the one being selfish! Selfish and crazy—that’s what you are. You don’t even realize what you’re asking of me!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t realize—” Toutousai bellowed back, before deflating abruptly.

Kagome froze at the sight. In the troubled silence that ensued, the sound of a small voice clearing could be heard.

“Er, if I may…”

The miko’s gaze fell. “Myouga-jii…”

Perched on Toutousai’s sunken shoulder, the flea youkai dabbed at his sweating brow. “Forgive me, Kagome-sama—I believe what Toutousai means to say is that it would be best if Tessaiga were returned to the Inu no Taishou’s bloodline, where its legacy may continue.”

Kagome’s jaw clenched briefly, before she shook her head and sighed. “I understand that, but…” Curling her fists against her hips, she felt the sharp edges of the pocketed shell bite into her palm. “Actually, Myouga-jii, there’s something I wanted to ask you…”

The flea’s round eyes went rounder still. “O-oh?”

“What can you tell me about a demon named Hirokin?”

Whatever Myouga had been bracing himself for her to ask, clearly this hadn’t been it. “…Hirokin,” the flea replied, relaxing a little, “is the youngest son of the River Lord Ryuutarou, one of the last remaining Dragon Lords. In ages past, these Dragon Lords ruled over all the land.”

“Dragon Lords…” Kagome murmured, meeting his eye. “Like Ryuukotsusei?”

“Indeed! Ryuutarou and Ryuukotsusei were cousins, I believe—or perhaps, their fathers were cousins…” Two of the flea’s right arms nestled beneath his chin. “…At any rate, the reign of the Dragon Lords ended with the Inu no Taishou’s conquest. Ryuutarou became a vassal of his, and Hirokin became Sesshoumaru-sama’s childhood friend.”

Kagome gaped. “Friend?”

Myouga nodded, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Most assume it is for this reason that Sesshoumaru-sama made Hirokin his advisor—and there is some truth in that. But it is a well-known secret that Prince Hirokin is a genius at strategy. Some call him the ‘The Tactician’; but ‘The Regent’ would be a more fitting name. For apart from Sesshoumaru-sama and his mother, there is no more powerful demon at rule in the Western Lands…”

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi